


If all we are is all we were

by serenalunera



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aaron Just Wants To Help, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Daryl, Angry Rednecks, Angst and Humor, Arguing, Awkward Boners, Banter, Baseball, Biting, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Bottom Daryl, Canonical Character Death, Coitus Interruptus, Cuddling & Snuggling, Curious Merle, Daryl Has Issues, Daryl Is Beautiful, Dense Rick, Dirty Talk, Edible Body Paint, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation - sort of, Epic Fail, Explicit Sexual Content, Fainting, Feelings, Feral Daryl, Finger Sucking, First Kiss, Flirting, Floor Sex, Fluff, Frottage, Good Brother Merle, Handcuffs, Horny Daryl, Hurt Daryl, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internal Conflict, Jealousy, Kissing, Kissing It Better, Lies, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Medical examination gone wrong, Mutual Pining, Naked Cuddling, Naked Daryl, Nipple Play, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Pete Is A Creep, Post-Coital Cuddling, Protective Merle, Rain, Rick Is A Sore Loser, Rick Is In Love, Rickyl, Sassy Daryl, Scratching, Secrets, Sexual Tension, Shirtless Rick, Slow Dancing, Snowball Fight, Stitches, Surprise Kiss, Top Rick, Trapped In A Closet - sort of, Trust Issues, Wandering Hands, accidental injury, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 12,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenalunera/pseuds/serenalunera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts sent to me on <a href="http://richardsdaryl.tumblr.com">tumblr</a><br/><i>or</i> the story of Rick and Daryl from the prison to Alexandria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter can be read as a stand alone but are all largely part of the same time line... Sort of.  
> Enjoy, all reviews are welcome and appreciated :)

“Hey Daryl, you got a sec?” A good part of the prison population was sitting at the tables outside of the cell blocks, enjoying the sun as well as a late lunch, and Daryl was one of them. The redneck looked up at Rick from his place between Maggie and Beth long before the sound of his voice reached him, the click of his boots on the floor alerting him of his presence.

“Sure. What for?” The archer popped a piece of meat in his mouth once he was done talking, laying back in his seat in order to get a good look at the other man. The Greene sisters were both looking at him as well, matching smiles stretching their lips as they witnessed the exchange.  
  
“Just... Stuff. Not here.” Rick brushed a hand through his hair, scratching the back of his head and ruffling his curls in the process before motioning for the hunter to follow him to the yard.

Daryl nodded in understanding, bringing the last chunk of rabbit to his lips and making sure to lick the juice off each finger before getting up and clapping Maggie on the shoulder. The redneck quickly fell into step beside Rick as they made their way to the farthest corner of the yard, only stopping once they had reached the least visible side of the watchtower.

“'Sup?” The younger man asked as soon as he was settled against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the other man. Surely there was a good reason for the leader to need that level of privacy... Maybe there was some kind of security breach he didn't want to alarm the others with? Or maybe they were getting dangerously low on food and he thought spreading panic wasn't the way to go? Whatever it was, the former deputy sure was taking his sweet time coming up with it.

“I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice.” Rick's eyes were boring holes into his, his tone of voice so flat and the words so sudden the archer was having a hell of a hard time processing them. What exactly did he mean by that?

“... What way?” Feigning ignorance might not have been the best course of action, but Daryl was running out of ways to play this, because if there was a misunderstanding there and he ended up blurting out his feelings when Rick meant something else, the redneck had a very vivid idea of how this was going to go down, and it was  _not_  going to be pretty.

“Like you want me.” Rick's words hit him like a punch to the gut, and there were so little physical cues it was almost impossible for the archer to try and read the guy. Daryl couldn't for the life of him decipher whether the look on the leader's face meant he was going to beat the shit out of him, or start laughing in his face and tell him it was a joke, so it was only natural for him to keep silent and hope for the best.

“You realize I look at you the same, right?” There was a smile on Rick's face now, and the hunter's mouth opened slightly for his soul to leave his body and find its way to heaven, because if he wasn't either dead or dreaming, there was no way this was happening.

It didn't feel like a dream when Rick started kissing him, though.


	2. I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified

Daryl had been avoiding him for a week now. Rick kept telling himself that he shouldn't be surprised, that he knew the archer could be volatile, that there were times when he needed his space. And if it had been in any other circumstances, he would have believed in that fact instead of worrying. But the truth was, the timing was way too perfect for it to be a simple mood swing. No, this time, Rick knew exactly why the hunter was avoiding him like the plague, and even if he had the reason written straight across his brain, he couldn't bring himself to understand the logic behind Daryl's behavior.

Because a week ago, they had kissed for the very first time, and it had made so much sense that Rick could not find it in himself to understand why the other man was putting distance between them. Daryl had responded to the kiss in kind, had fisted his hand in the former deputy's hair and held his jaw in place. He had snaked his arms around his neck, pulled him in and let Rick kiss his throat. He had done all those things and they had talked about it afterwards, had both confessed to feeling something deeper than friendship for one another, and it had all been alright.

Or so Rick had thought.

But a week was too long a time without the redneck's presence beside him, following him like a shadow, so it was only natural for him to decide that paying him a visit tonight would be the best course of action. Because tonight, Daryl was on watch, and there would be no escaping the former deputy's demand for an explanation.  
  
The look on the archer's face when Rick came up to visit him in the guard tower was absolutely heartbreaking. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, totally unprepared, and most of all, frustrated. Rick fought the urge to bite his lip as he strode over to where the other man was standing, taking his usual spot beside him, but keeping a little bit of distance between them so he wouldn't freak him out. They stood like this for a while, Rick not daring to say a word because of how loudly he could hear the wheels turning inside the hunter's head, choosing instead to extend a hand in his direction, hoping Daryl would understand what it meant.

I'm not mad at you. I just want to know if you're ok. I don't want to give up on us. Please talk to me.

Rick's whole body relaxed when he felt a calloused hand grasp his, warm fingers threading with his own in a gentle, yet meaningful hold. The leader turned to look at the younger man, only for his eyes to be met with the intensity of Daryl's gaze, all traces of silvery blue washed away by black as if they had never existed. The archer looked nervous, haggard – confused, even – but there was also a strange determination there, and a glint to the dark pools disguised as his eyes that Rick had never seen before.

“I think I'm in love with ya and I'm fuckin' terrified.” The words were so honest Rick could have sworn he had felt them land on his face and print themselves all over his skin. Because where there was the possibility that he could forget them at some point in his life, there was also the certainty that he would  _always_  remember the way they had made him feel.

“Then we can be terrified together.”


	3. You lied to me

The cell block was silent save for the occasional chatter from the few stragglers in the mess hall, giving the prison a false air of privacy. Rick and Daryl were sitting beside one another on the bottom bunk of the leader's cell, making good use of their time alone together as they kissed, the older man's hand slowly but surely finding its way beneath the archer's shirt, making him jerk away and hiss as pain spread through his ribs. Furrowing his brow, the former deputy reached for the hunter's flannel again, lifting it high enough to see the collection of blues and purples all over his abdomen.

“You said you weren't injured. You lied to me.” Rick was giving the redneck a hard stare, his lips pursed in frustration at the realization that he had once again failed to see through his lover's dismissive behavior and reassuring lies.  
  
“I didn't lie, said I's fine.” The archer shrugged, batting Rick's hand away to pull his shirt back down, covering the bruises effectively before crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“Same fucking difference, Daryl. You're hurt, you should've told me.” The leader sighed, visibly annoyed by the younger man's insistence on brushing the whole thing off like it wasn't important. Truth was, Rick was worried sick every time the hunter left the prison, and Daryl hiding his injuries from him did nothing to ease his mind.  
  
“C'mon, ain't a big deal. S'just a cracked rib, I've had worse 'fore.” The redneck shrugged once again, dropping his gaze as he was crudely reminded of the time his old man had busted four of his ribs, never giving them the time to heal properly before he would go around and break them again.   
  
“I don't care if you've had worse before! Don't lie to me 'bout that stuff. Hell, don't lie to me, period.” Rick's anger was coming to a simmer, the leader getting increasingly frustrated with Daryl's downplay of the situation, and of the injuries he had sustained in the past. Still, the former deputy was doing his best to remain calm, all too aware of the damage such an outburst could cause.  
  
“I wouldn't have ta lie if ya didn't go apeshit on me every time I so much as get a fuckin' splinter. I can take care of myself, Rick. Don't need ya ta be both my daddy and my boyfriend.” It was Daryl's turn to sigh now, and the archer mentioning his father was as good an indication that he was hitting his limit as a giant billboard covered in blinking lights and capital letters reading “fuck off” would be.  
  
“Fine. I'll get a hold of myself if you promise to stop hiding this kinda shit from me.” The soothing tone of Rick's voice was enough for the tension to drop, his now much softer gaze searching the younger man's eyes in order to convince him to accept the terms of his offer.  
  
“Deal. Can we go back ta kissin' now?” Daryl wet his lips, his gaze shifting from Rick's eyes to his mouth every few seconds, witnessing the formation of a lazy smile there as the leader whispered a barely intelligible “of course” before leaning in.  
  
The kiss that followed lasted long enough to act as an apology on both parts.


	4. You fainted... straight into my arms

Running. It was all they had been doing for the better half of the day, and now the light was burning out on them and they had absolutely nowhere to go. They were both exhausted, bleeding, and on the verge of starvation, but they couldn't stop, not yet, not until they were safe from the death parade chasing them. Daryl was limping, pain shooting through his leg every time he took a step, and Rick was barely able to support his own weight, dragging himself along like a criminal on his way to the electric chair.

They looked like dead men, the both of them, covered in their own blood and the blood of others, mud sticking to their clothes and to their hair, the stench of death following them around like a shadow as they all but stumbled through the woods. That's when Daryl saw it, the poor excuse of a tree house a few feet away from them, shining like a beacon in the periphery of his vision. The hunter ushered Rick towards the great oak, pushing him to climb even though the leader had next to energy left after running all day and bleeding so much.

Rick got to the top rather quickly given his state, Daryl following close behind him. The archer had made his way up a good part of the bark when a walker suddenly grabbed his injured ankle, screwing up his balance and almost making him fall to the ground. The leader shot the geek in the head before it could do any real damage, extending his good arm for Daryl to hold onto, and yanking him into the tree house, the two of them toppling over as soon as they hit the hardwood floor of the cabin.

Both men panted as they struggled to pick themselves off the floor, thankful for the fact that the tree house was devoid of occupants – dead, or alive. If Daryl was having difficulties getting up because of his ankle, Rick was having a harder time adjusting to his standing position, holding on to the wall like a blind man in unknown territory. The former deputy had barely taken two steps towards the back of the cabin when he went crashing down, the hunter catching him right before he could hit the floor and injure himself even further. The passed out leader was limp in his arms, his face white from blood loss and probable dehydration, and it took Daryl all he had in himself to get him down onto the mattress in the far corner of the cabin.

“Daryl?...” Rick's voice was weak as he called for the other man, yet strong enough to convey his anxiety after waking up in a strange bed without the archer's reassuring presence by his side. The leader spotted him a few feet away from him, tending to his injured ankle, and Rick did not even have to ask him what had happened, because as soon as their eyes met, Daryl started talking.

“Ya fainted… straight inta my arms. Ya know, if ya wanted my attention ya didn’t have ta go ta such extremes ta get it. Just play nice and pucker yer lips a little bit, that's all.” Rick actually laughed at that, his cracked rib instantly giving him hell for it, but the leader told himself that it was worth it.

Because there was a smile on Daryl's face too, and that meant they were both going to be fine.


	5. Well this is awkward

It had been Maggie's idea to play baseball. Well, some kind of version of baseball anyway. Not nearly enough people were free to play, or wanted to for that matter, forcing them to throw the rules out of the window and make two teams of four each. The first one was composed of Rick, Daryl, Michonne and Sasha, and the second one was made of Maggie, Glenn, Beth and Tyreese. A number of people were watching, including Hershel, Carl and Karen, along with Carol, Judith, and the rest of the kids.  
  
Maggie was pitching, and this ball would hopefully determine whose team would win after an afternoon of additional innings. Both teams had tried and failed all day to make a home run, and Rick felt the weight of the world on his bare shoulders as he clutched the baseball bat in his hands. He had gotten rid of his shirt at some point during the game, the Georgian summer heat pounding down on them so fiercely the fabric had been sticking to him like second skin, making his movements clumsy and uncomfortable. Which, as it turned out, was a bad combination when it came to playing baseball.  
  
The leader took a deep breath, watching Maggie preparing to throw and mentally calculating how hard he would have to swing to even touch the damn thing. The eldest Greene girl delivered at last and Rick took the hit, praying to a god he didn't believe in anymore for some kind of miracle so they could finally put an end to this game because a) his back was killing him, b) he was about to melt from the heat, and c) his raging hard-on was getting increasingly difficult to ignore.  
  
And if he hadn't been so focused on the sound of Daryl's voice when he had yelled “Home run!”, Rick would have thanked whoever was in the sky granting him wishes. He dropped the bat and started sprinting instead, running over base one, two, three and back home before slamming full force into the archer's open arms, almost sending them both crashing to the ground if it wasn't for the redneck's freaky upper body strength. Rick had forgotten all about his persistent boner until he felt a jean-clad thigh come in contact with it, the other man instantly tensing in his arms.  
  
“Well this is awkward...” Rick managed to croak out a little chuckle after that, finding it a little weird that Daryl had made no move to step away from him. The leader honestly thought the archer would have bolted by now, even if he wasn't supposed to know that he and his half opened shirt were responsible for the torrential blood flow steadily making its way towards Rick's cock since the middle of the game.  
  
“Don't have ta be...” The former deputy gasped as he felt something just as hard as himself press against his thigh, realization hitting him like a brick as to why Daryl had stayed in his arms.   
  
Rick wasn't the only one who thought baseball was hot.


	6. Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?

The sight that befell him when Rick walked through the door to his cell was something he had  _never_  expected to see. He had thought about it, had imagined it, had  _lusted_  after it for months but never had he thought, even for one second, that there would come a day when he would be graced by the image of a  _very_  naked and  _very_  aroused Daryl in his bed. The leader's eyes trailed down the beautifully toned body to the sizable erection resting against a deliciously jutting hipbone Rick wanted nothing but to trace with his tongue, his throat going dry at the thought that this was all for  _him_.

“There a reason you're naked in my bed? Besides the obvious, I mean.” The former deputy felt idiotic for even asking, but the totality of his blood supply was currently making its way down and away from his brain to fill the tent in his pants, completely hindering his thought process.   
  
“There a reason yer not?” Daryl raised an eyebrow for punctuation, his gaze hot as his eyes traveled down a path similar to the one Rick had followed earlier, ending their course on the bulge rapidly forming between the leader's legs, before coming back up to make a point.   
  
“Fair enough.” Rick quickly started shrugging out of his clothes, kicking off his boots at the same time as he unbuckled his belt, doing things two at a time for the simple reason that he was afraid Daryl would walk out the door if he took even a second too long.   
  
“Relax, I ain't goin' nowhere. C'mere.” The archer sat up on the edge of the bed, reaching for Rick's half unbuckled belt as soon as he was close enough. Daryl looked up at him through his lashes as he slid the leather out of the buckle, keeping eye contact as he worked on both button and zipper and yanked the leader's jeans down to pool around his ankles.  
  
Rick's breath caught in his throat when the hunter started mouthing at the wet patch on his underwear, strong hands gripping his hips tight as Daryl worked him through the thin fabric of his boxers. The leader bit his lip to muffle a moan as the archer licked a line from base to tip, his whole body shuddering as he forced himself to focus enough to remove his shirt. His hands found the younger man's face as soon as he was done, forcing him off his crotch in order to drop his shorts.  
  
The next few minutes were a mess of wet kisses and wandering hands, both men tumbling in bed, finding purchase in the sheets and each other as they ground their hips together, the languid rhythm reminiscent of their effortless synchronicity. It didn't take long for them to reach completion, two final groans of raw ecstasy marking their climax, at last breaking the seal of sexual tension that had been boiling between them for the past few months. The flame had burned brighter with each time they had indulged in heated kisses away from prying eyes, and was now coming down to a soft glow as they lay in bed together, satisfaction painted all over their faces and a ghost of a smile on their lips.


	7. We're in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?

If Rick had thought he knew what true beauty was before that day, he had no idea how wrong he was.

When Rick was five, he thought it was the smile on his mother's face whenever he brought her wild flowers from the little park near their home. When he was thirteen, it was his history teacher's soft green eyes and bright red lips. When he was twenty, it was Lori's delicate features and beautiful brown hair. After that, it was the way she looked on their wedding day, his son's tiny little fingers holding onto his the day he was born, the look they both gave him when they met again back at the quarry, and more recently, it was his daughter's sheer happiness as she giggled away in his arms.  
  
They had been on a hunt when the weather had taken a turn for the worst. The change in the atmosphere had been so sudden even Daryl had been surprised by it, the rain falling down on them like pebbles as they ran looking for shelter. They had run for what felt likes miles before the first cracks of thunder had made themselves heard, startling them into moving faster.

The moment they had come across a clearing, however, was the moment the archer had chosen to stop, standing in the middle of it and letting the rain fall down on him like some kind of holy shower. Rick had stared at him, bewildered, shouting a panicked version of “we're in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?!” in Daryl's direction, all the while looking around for possible threats. The only thing the other man had done was turn around to face him, close his eyes and lean his head back, drops of water hitting every part of him and sliding down his skin in dark rivulets of blood and dirt.  
  
This was the moment that made Rick realize true beauty was not something you could find just about anywhere.  
  
It wasn't soft, subtle, or delicate, like all the things he had always found appealing over the course of his life. No, this time, it was something else entirely. It was everything he had always overlooked, everything that had always seemed out of place or not perfect enough. It was in the wet hair curling at the ends and around the archer's temples, in the lines of his face accentuated by the mud clinging to them, in the bruises on his arms and the thick scar beneath his collarbone, in the blood caked under his fingernails and the cigarette burns on the back of his hands.   
  
It was in every little thing that made Daryl who he was, from the color of his eyes to the texture of his skin, from the gentlest of smiles to the deepest of scars. It was in every single thing Rick had traced with his fingertips at night in the quiet of their cell, in every single thing he had slid his mouth against and tasted with his tongue without really seeing. It was in every little imperfection he had overlooked until he had noticed them all at once.  
  
But that was exactly what true beauty was – perfect imperfection. And it was his.


	8. Please, don't leave

It had all happened so fast. One minute he was walking along a hospital corridor, and the next the floor was crumbling under his feet, sending him crashing down three stories below. The only thing Daryl could hear during the fall, besides the sounds of falling debris and bones breaking, was the horrified scream of the one person he had cleared this side of the facility with – Rick.

Now Daryl might not have been the brightest bulb, but he knew a three story fall wouldn't kill him. Unless his luck decided that he should fall and impale himself on something sharp, that is. Or that he should hit his head on something harder than his skull, or yet again, that he should fall right in the middle of a group of walkers ready to tear the flesh from his bones. However his fate seemed to have been sealed on the first option, the hunter landing on his back in a pile of debris, a protruding metal rod going straight through his thigh on impact.  
  
The scream Daryl let out was the most blood curdling sound Rick had ever heard in his life, and that included his son's cries of agony when Hershel had been removing shrapnel from his abdomen. The former deputy didn't think twice before running to the nearest staircase, making his way down three flights of stairs so quickly it would have winded him if not for the rush of adrenaline in his veins.  
  
The sight that befell him when he forced open the door to the corridor Daryl had fallen in was like an IV inducing panic into his bloodstream. The archer was sprawled on his back over at least two feet of collapsed concrete and tile, and a thin construction rod was embedded in the meat of his thigh. Blood was pouring out of various cuts and gashes over his body, as well as the side of his head.  
  
“Shit, Daryl, can you hear me?” The only answer Rick got was a pained groan, the hunter's eyes fluttering open the second he could put a name on the owner of the voice he was hearing, a tired half smile stretching his lips upon seeing the leader's familiar face.  
  
“We gotta get you out of here, and fast. There's no way those walkers out there haven't heard this. I'm gonna go get the others, and-” The former deputy was cut short by a firm “no” from Daryl, as well as a moan of discomfort as he lifted his arm to get a hold of Rick's hand.  
  
“Don't go. Please, don't leave me here. I don't wanna die here, Rick, I-” The older man shushed him softly, squeezing Daryl's hand into his own as he brought up the other one to cup the archer's jaw, his thumb carefully avoiding the bleeding cut at the top of his cheekbone.

“You're not gonna die here, Daryl. Not on my watch. I'm gonna get the others, we're gonna get you outta here, and Dr. S is gonna patch you up. I'm gonna take care of you, and you're gonna be just fine. Trust me on this.” Rick punctuated his words with a hard look, the kind of look he would throw the hunter now and again, full of fire, love, and determination – everything that made Rick who he was.  
  
And coincidentally, everything that gave Daryl the strength to keep going.


	9. Come over here and make me

“Goddammit Daryl, will you quit licking your fingers like that?” Rick had tried to ignore him, tried not to think about how positively  _decadent_  Daryl looked sucking meat juice off of his fingers, but his frustration was coming to a head and his self control was crumbling under him like a house of cards after the softest gust of wind.

Surely Daryl didn't know what he was doing to him, right?

“Well why dontcha come over here and make me,  _Officer_?” Oh. Rick had not been expecting that. At all. But the smirk toying with the corner of Daryl's mouth was making him feel all kinds of things, and his mind was suddenly clouded by thoughts of what those lips _could_  do.

“Let's give you somethin'  _else_  to suck on, then.”  _This is dangerous,_  Rick thought as he pulled himself from the window he was leaning against and made his way to where the redneck was sitting, on the floor of the shack they were currently holed up in after a run gone all kinds of wrong.

 _This is a bad idea,_  Rick told himself as he unbuckled his belt, witnessing the color steadily draining from Daryl's steel blue eyes as his pupils dilated, black arousal taking over almost entirely. The archer knelt in front of him, his hands shooting up to grip his hips as soon as the leader had freed himself, hard cock standing flushed and proud against his faded black shirt, twitching in anticipation. Rick's heart skipped a beat when the younger man leaned in, licking his lips in preparation before placing the flat of his tongue over the head, lapping at the bead of precome pooling there.

Rick hissed at the feeling of a warm tongue delving into his slit, catching every last drop with quiet little  _mmh'_ s of approval, the hunter's eyes half closed in concentration. That same tongue started tracing the underside of his length in slow, tantalizing strokes, before teasing the spot right beneath the head, lapping at it until the leader gave an involuntary buck of his hips, groaning low in his throat.

Daryl smirked before wrapping one of his hands around the base, gripping it tight as he flicked his wrist a few times, making the leader grunt in both pleasure and frustration. The archer tilted his head, wetting his lips some more before dragging them along the side of Rick's shaft, alternating between laying delicate, open mouthed kisses along the length and sliding his tongue against the thick vein pulsing there. Rick had to choke back a moan when the redneck started sucking on the underside, the former deputy's hand coming down to fist itself in long brown hair, making Daryl hum against his cock.

The next few minutes were a blur, the hunter had wrapped his lips tightly around him and was now sliding them up and down his girth, dragging his tongue in patterns on the underside with every upstroke. Rick was a panting mess above him, moaning desperately about how close he was, his warning only serving in making Daryl hollow his cheeks even more as he took him deeper, the other man's release hitting the back of his throat with a resounding groan, Rick's whole body vibrating with the strength of his orgasm. Pulling back, the archer made a show of swallowing before licking his lips, a devilish smirk stuck on his mouth as he took in the leader's disheveled state.

“Remind me ta lick my fingers more often.”


	10. YOU DID WHAT?!

It was a quiet night at the prison, everyone was huddled around the tables in the common area for some kind of excuse of a dinner, some sitting more closely than others, as evidenced by the Chinaman and his girlfriend who were practically in each other's laps. Merle, however, retained at least some distance from the group, choosing to lean against the wall closest to the set of stairs his little brother and the cop were currently occupying. The pair was sitting so close to one another, they looked like they had been glued together from shoulder to knee, and were talking in hushed tones, whispering things the eldest Dixon could not quite grasp from his vantage point.

Now Merle was nowhere near hard of hearing, but he had a feeling Officer Friendly was doing his best to avoid speaking too loudly, and judging by the color on his brother's face and the lazy smile stretching his lips, he might have been just right. Contrary to popular belief, Merle wasn't stupid either, and he most certainly wasn't blind. He had seen the way that Rick guy had been looking at his little brother ever since they had been reunited, along with the look on his face when he had watched them leave together like they were supposed to, and the eldest Dixon didn't like that one bit.

Deciding that Officer Friendly was not worthy of him straining his ears, Merle inched closer as discreetly as he could, trying to catch a few syllables here and there and to grasp their meaning, but it was proving to be quite the hard task. Forcing his luck some more, the eldest Dixon slid just a tad closer to the pair, regretting it almost instantly as the former deputy's words finally reached his ears.  
  
“Hey that thing you did the other night... Any chance you'd consider doin' it again tonight?” There was a very strange smile on the former cop's face that Merle had trouble putting words on, seeing as he never saw that kind of smile on the guy's mug before, but the closest he could get would be... Sensual.   
  
No, that wasn't right.

“Ya liked it so much yer comin' back for seconds?” Daryl's tone was playful now, the look in his eyes slightly dazed as he stared at Officer Friendly, and the little smirk at the corner of his lips looked all kinds of misplaced on his little brother's face. The whole picture was  _wrong_.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Well it's really hard not to think 'bout you like that now...” Merle couldn't see the cop's face properly from where he stood, but he was almost positive what he could see was the edge of a predatory smile, and the eldest Dixon had half the mind to wash his eyes with bleach. Surely being blind would be better than seeing this. But he couldn't be right, right?  
  
He had to be wrong. He  _had_ to.  
  
“Ya can't stop thinkin' 'bout me sucking yer cock, hu? That what yer tryna tell me?” And now Merle really wished he was blind  _and_  deaf, because never in a million years had he thought he would  _ever_  hear _those_  words come out of his baby brother's mouth, and also because he really hated himself for the visual his brain had provided.

“YA DID WHAT?”


	11. Boo

“Boo.”  
  
The word was enough for Rick to jump out of his skin, spinning around so fast his elbow came in contact with  _something_  behind him as he drew his gun, pointing it straight at... Daryl. Daryl, who was clutching his bleeding mouth with one hand and holding the other in front of him in a gesture of what was either protection or surrender, all the while glaring at Rick.  
  
“Motherfucker,” came out muffled by the archer's hand yet still full of purpose, and the leader would have laughed if not for the blood pouring out of his lover's mouth onto his fingers, little droplets falling to the ground in thin streaks and painting the grass of the field a rich red.  
  
“Shit, hang on.” Rick took a step closer, biting his lip at the sight of the redneck flinching before reaching over to Daryl's back pocket to retrieve his red all-purpose rag. Keeping his movements as non-threatening as possible, the leader gently removed the other man's hand from his still bleeding mouth before carefully pressing the rag over what appeared to be a split lip.  
  
The hunter hissed in discomfort, the necessary pressure over his wound reminding him of the dozens of times his father had busted his lip over the course of his life, and all the patching up he had had to do afterwards. In Rick's defense, he looked exceptionally sorry as he pressed the rag over his injured mouth, effectively stopping the bleeding after a few minutes of dabbing over abused flesh.  
  
“Shit, man, you scared the crap outta me. I almost shot you right there.” Rick pulled back slightly to take in the damage, the redneck's lip already swelling around the split part, a little off-center to the right. Frowning, the leader cupped Daryl's chin with one hand to wipe off some of the blood he had missed with the other, guilt written all over his face.

“Yeah, and insteada killin' me ya elbowed me right in the face. Good fuckin' job,  _officer_.” Daryl snorted, snatching the rag from the other man in a failed attempt to show scorn, his split-down-the-middle smirk ebbing away the anger to let amusement take over.  
  
“Fine, laugh all you want. I'd rather have you makin' fun of me than dead anyway.” The former deputy's words brought a chuckle out of Daryl's throat, the sound a low, pleasant rumble as the hunter cooed at his lover for his sweet words and attentions, making Rick huff and laugh at the same time.  
  
They laughed about it for a few more minutes, the redneck taunting the other man about how inefficient his elbow would have been against a flesh hungry walker. The jab earned him a playful shove from Rick, along with a threat of not kissing it better if he kept giving him shit about it, making Daryl pout in the most overdone way possible. The swelling of his cut exaggerated the whole thing so much the leader couldn't help but lean in and press his lips against the uninjured part of the archer's mouth in a series of soft, peppering kisses, each one symbolic of an apology.  
  
Daryl sought to deepen said kisses, only to recoil with a pained grunt the second Rick's mouth came in contact with his wound, the prospect of kissing it better suddenly so far out the window the redneck hated himself for even thinking about trying to scare his lover in the first place.


	12. Don't you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!

Winter had never felt so harsh, but that was probably because they had all been able to bundle up in thick scarves and warm coats before the turn, and now that the options were sparse, the cold could easily slip through their clothes and freeze their bones. Still, the bitterness of the weather took nothing away from the general upbeat feeling their upcoming “Christmas party” was bringing them, the excitement palpable as the makeshift date slowly but surely approached.

An eerie sense of calm seemed to have fallen over the prison, only broken by the laughter of the children playing in the snowy field as adults watched over them, hugging their jackets close to their chests. Daryl came out of the cell block at the exact moment a snowball fight broke, Carl sending vicious orbs in Patrick's direction, most of them hitting him everywhere except for his glasses. The archer snorted at that, crossing his arms to watch the show, Mika running after her sister and throwing armfuls of snow at her, both girls giggling manically.

A small smile crept up on his lips as the hunter caught sight of Rick a little ways away from him, positively beaming at his son, who was currently looking to him for validation after having covered Patrick in snow from head to toe. A cruel hit to the back of the head had Carl whipping around, only to be knocked down on his ass by a snowball to the face – courtesy of Lizzie – making Patrick double over laughing and Daryl snort rather audibly. The sound seemed to draw the leader's attention, and next thing he knew, Rick was holding a snowball of his own, tossing it in the air and catching it repeatedly.

Everything about him was menacing, from his offensive stance to his gaze that screamed  _murder_.

“Dontcha dare throw that snowba-, goddammit, Grimes!” The ball hit him square in the chest, the front of his poncho now splattered in white powder, making the leader grin in victory.

 _This is war,_  Daryl thought as he bent down to pick up a massive amount of snow, forming a humongous orb out of it before charging after Rick, who had thought it wise to run away as soon as he had caught up with the other man's intentions. Sadly for him, his back was hit dead on by the monstrosity the redneck had created, a cheerful “Bullseye!” erupting from the archer's mouth as the leader fell flat on his face.

If Rick had thought he was at an all time low, he was now revising his statement because of the new level of low he was experiencing, the hunter now sitting on top of him to stake his victory even further. Grunting, the former deputy put all of his strength in throwing the other man off of him, Daryl landing in a graceless heap on the ground, along with a surprised yelp Rick would spend days taunting him for. But right now, the leader was a little busy climbing on top of the redneck and pinning his arms in the snow, a lazy smile on his lips as he leaned down to kiss him softly.

Winter had never felt so harsh, but then again, never had it felt so damn warm.


	13. Tell me a secret

The moon was high up in the sky, its light almost splitting the night in half with how bright it was reflected by the stars. Rick's eyes fell on a constellation through the window of his cell, trying to remember the things Daryl had taught him, but they seemed to be escaping him. They were both lying in his too small bunk, relaxing after a solid hour of lovemaking, Rick flat on his back with his arms behind his head, and Daryl half sprawled on top of him, face hidden in the crook of his neck, shallow breaths dying against his skin.

“Hey, Daryl...” Rick slipped an arm out from under his head to run a hand through the archer's hair, smoothing it before pressing on the redneck’s scalp with his fingertips, earning a happy little moan from Daryl as he curled into him like a cat, practically purring.

“Mmh?” The hunter's voice was a perfect combination of low and raspy, all sex and contentment, quite like the expression on his face as he lifted his head up from its hiding place in his lover's neck, sleepy eyes looking up into honest ones.

“Tell me a secret.” The leader tried to remain impassible as he waited for the other man to respond, choosing instead to dig his fingers a little deeper in his scalp to relax him even further, not expecting him to lash out but preparing for it anyway.

“Whataya think I am, some twelve year old girl?” Daryl scoffed at that, a little smirk playing at the corner of his lips for all of three seconds before they parted and his eyes fell closed, the former deputy's fingers working wonders in the redneck's hair.

“I hope not 'cause then I'd be in a whole lotta trouble.” There was a chuckle on Rick's part, mirrored by the snort the younger man let out right before calling him a  _smartass_  and leaning up to kiss him full on the lips, the former deputy humming in approval. Daryl took the time to make it nice and sweet, kissing him unusually softly before pulling away and resuming his position on the leader's shoulder, everything the same as it was before, except for the fact that his eyes were now open and his mind wide awake.

The cell was bathed in silence now, and Rick had a feeling this was the calm before the storm.

“When I's fifteen I had this stupid crush on a friend a Merle's. He was like, what, 10 years older than me? A total dick, too, but he was Merle's buddy so that goes without sayin'.” Daryl chuckled at that, drawing random patterns on Rick's chest with his fingers as he pondered what to say next.

“Anyway, I's lustin' after the guy somethin' bad, and he found out. Thought he was gonna beat the crap outta me, or worse, tell my old man and let him finish the job. But he said he wouldn't do it if I gave him a BJ.” Daryl paused again, contemplating the weight of his words before picking up again.

“Truth is, I almost did it. But Merle heard him and beat the shit outta him 'fore I could move a muscle. I ain't never told nobody 'bout this. Guess I never really had anyone to tell 'fore you.” The redneck shrugged before pressing his lips against Rick's throat, snuggling closer and whispering a tiny “g'night” in his ear, making the leader smile softly and close his eyes, mentally reminding himself to tell Daryl a secret of his own next time.


	14. Looks like we'll be trapped for a while...

Daryl sighed for the umpteenth time that day, kicking at a cardboard box on the floor to emphasize his growing frustration for the predicament they were in. Maggie, Michonne, Rick and him had left the prison early this morning for what was supposed to be a quick run to a self-storage facility, only for him and the leader to end up locked in one of the damn storage units by mistake. The women had tried to get them out as best they could, but were run off by a couple dozen walkers in their frantic search for a way to force the door open, leaving them both stuck in a 5x10 room full of dusty boxes.

Just our fucking luck.

“Looks like we're gonna be trapped for a while...” Resigned, Daryl sat down on one of the bigger boxes, dust flying off every which way as he took his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes in irritation before sliding his fingers through matted strands of hair, sighing once again.

“Might as well make the best of it.” Rick shrugged, a sly smile gracing his lips as he held his ground, standing a few feet away from the archer with his arms crossed over his chest. Daryl heard himself snort at the other man's words, lifting his head to look up at him.

“Right. And what'd ya suggest we do?” There was a challenge to the redneck's words, and Rick responded to it by walking over to where Daryl was sitting, brushing away his bangs with one hand and cupping his jaw with the other, letting his thumb slide over dry lips in the process.

“I think you know.” Rick smirked this time, parting the archer's lips with his thumb before letting it slide in slowly, Daryl welcoming the digit into his mouth by rubbing his tongue underneath it. Closing his eyes, the redneck took a hold of the leader's wrist before starting to suck on his finger eagerly, the whole picture raising goosebumps all over Rick's body.

The pair made quick work of their clothes as soon as the hunter had released the former deputy's thumb, both men now clad in nothing but their anticipation as they lay on the floor, entwined like vines on top of a dubiously colored carpet. They had not exactly come prepared for this sort of thing, which meant that they would have to settle for less than they were used to, yet neither of them seemed to mind with the way Rick was pressed snugly between the archer's thighs, grinding in earnest.

The friction provided by their lengths rubbing together was forcing them to muffle their groans with desperate kisses, Daryl clawing at the leader's back like his life depended on it, making Rick growl dangerously low in his throat. Breaking the kiss, the former deputy trailed down the hunter's neck, licking it softly before biting down over the younger man's pulse point, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure down to the redneck's leaking cock, a whine spilling out of his lips in the process.

A couple more thrusts had them coming all over each other, the sensual roll of their hips making them hiss in over-stimulation as their sensitive shafts slid along one another one last time. They were still locked in a tight embrace when a loud bang on the door made them jump, Maggie signaling in a yell that they had found what they needed to free them, sending both men scrambling for their clothes.


	15. Hey! I was gonna eat that!

No matter what kind of day they were having, breakfast was always a cheerful time at the prison. Everyone relished in the fact that they had actual food to eat, and that no matter what it was, Carol always made sure to make it at least somewhat tasty. It wasn't exactly gourmet food, but it was something, and everyone was grateful for her and whoever had put food on their plate in the first place.  
  
More often than not, one of those people would be Daryl, and mornings had soon turned into a chorus of “morning, Daryl,” “morning, Mr. Dixon,” and whenever Rick would feel a little playful, the archer would sometimes hear a not-so-discreet “morning,  _hunk_ ” among them. Today happened to be one of those days, because as soon as the redneck had sat down next to his lover, the now familiar words greeted him, along with a bright, entirely too satisfied smile, and a few snickers from Maggie and Michonne sitting across from them.  
  
Daryl snorted at that, nudging the leader with his shoulder, his annoyance betrayed by the smirk blooming on his lips and the look of plain adoration in his eyes. He had been wearing the same lovesick puppy look for the past few months, ever since the night of their first kiss, and as much as the redneck hated himself for behaving like such a girl, Rick had assured him it was nothing if not welcome.   
  
And adorable, but that was not the point.  
  
However, the former deputy wasn't the only one feeling playful today, and the hunter proved it by reaching into Rick's bowl at the same time as he did, snatching the juiciest piece of venison right before his lover could. The offended yelp the other man let out fueled Daryl's mood, his complaints of “Hey! I was gonna eat that!” just enough to make him want to  _tease_.  
  
“Well that's too bad, innit? 'Cause now it's in my mouth and there ain't much ya can do 'bout that,  _sweetheart_.” Daryl's speech was a bit slurred by the piece of meat he was holding between his teeth, in plain view of the leader's angry – or were they hungry? – eyes.  
  
“We'll see 'bout that,  _baby_.” Rick's tone of voice was too confident to mean anything good, and the former deputy proved the redneck's point by crashing their lips together, just long enough to get a taste and snatch the piece of venison Daryl hadn't even had the chance to start munching on.  
  
Leaning back in his seat, the older man made a show of chewing the meat around a self-satisfied smirk, everything about it contrasting with the slight downturn of Daryl's mouth. The hunter was visibly sulking now, his sour attitude only succeeding in making Rick's smile grow. The former deputy felt obliged to slide his half-eaten bowl closer to his lover in a silent apology, the redneck's mood only lightening once the leader's free hand found its way to his thigh and  _squeezed_.

Coincidentally, a lazy smile replaced the archer's frown for the remainder of the meal.


	16. Wanna dance?

It was the middle of spring, and the atmosphere was light around the prison that night. Glenn had brought back a boombox from a run that same morning, and the youngest Greene girl had been adamant on throwing a party to celebrate a good day, along with the few birthdays that she somewhat knew were coming up. Everyone had spent the day either decorating the cell blocks, preparing the apocalyptic version of gourmet food, or rummaging through storage to find items they could use to play infamous party games.  
  
The whole prison was in good spirits, some of them enough to bring out the few bottles of alcohol they had stored, just in case anyone fancied a drink to go with the party cheer. Everyone was gathered around C block and the mess hall, the boombox playing cheesy love song after cheesy love song from a mix tape Glenn had found along with the stereo, most people slightly swaying to the music and the whispers of conversation.  
  
Daryl was sitting on the bottom steps of the cell block's stairs, surveying the small groups of party-goers laughing around plastic cups half filled with what the archer guessed was either liquor or water. A small smirk turned the corner of his mouth up as he witnessed Beth and Zach awkwardly dancing to a slow beat, looking a little pale in comparison to Tyreese and Karen, the couple gazing into each other's eyes as they moved together in picture perfect harmony.  
  
The familiar clicking of boots on concrete had Daryl turning his attention to the leader walking his way, a pleasant smile permanently etched on his face as he came to a stop in front of the archer, offering him his hand. The redneck raised an eyebrow at the gesture but slid his palm into the older man's anyway, Rick throwing a quick “Wanna dance?” his way before yanking him up and dragging him to the part of the cell block that had been established as the dance floor.   
  
“Wait, Rick, I don't-” Daryl's words were cut short by the former deputy as he took a sharp turn, pulling the hunter with him into the nearest cell – which happened to be his own.   
  
Rick wasted no time in drawing the redneck closer to him, wrapping one arm around his waist and bringing the one already holding onto Daryl's up and in position, taking the lead. The archer blinked up at him, disbelief written all over his face as the older man started swaying slowly to the barely muffled beat of yet another love song, his gaze locking with the hunter's.  
  
“I wanted to do this at least once, while we still have the chance.” Rick's words might have been sad for such a lovely night, but they succeeded in bringing a smile to the other man's face.

Daryl dropped his gaze for a moment, adjusting his stance to get closer to the former deputy, and bringing his eyes back up to stare into his lover's translucent blues before leaning in, locking their lips together. The kiss was gentle, almost melancholic, with a taste of love so sweet it felt like sipping on liquid sugar, the music from the cell block a forgotten lull as both men moved together as one to the inaudible beat of their hearts.


	17. Hey, I'm with you, okay? Always.

They had been on the road for so long. The asphalt had burned right through the soles of their shoes with how long they had been walking, but they had all been too numb to notice. They were all dead on their feet, wandering down the scorching road like a swarm of puppets, anesthetized to the bone. Daryl could feel the strings drag behind him as he pushed himself to just  _keep walking_. If he could keep walking they would be fine. That's what Rick had said, and what nobody really believed in anymore.

Rick had told him he knew he had lost  _something_  back in Atlanta. Truth is, they had all lost  _something_  back there. Hope. Joy. Purpose. What reason did they have to live if the good ones did not? It was not just  _her_ , it was also  _him_. They had been so bright, the both of them. The stars above them lighting up a path for them to take, highlighting the right turns and obscuring the wrong ones. They were their faith, and now their faith had been stomped on like embers on a busy street.

They were together but they were alone. There was a missing link there, and it took the shape of  _her_ , and it took the shape of  _him_ , and it took the shape of all the things that they had lost over the years. All that, for what? One more day in the burning heat of a hell none of them had agreed to live in? Had wanted to live in? Was there a point anymore? Or were they just supposed to keep walking and disappear in a world where both the living and the dead were corrupt? Daryl did not know, and he did not care. Not anymore. He just kept on walking.

There was a storm coming. There was a storm coming and Daryl could feel it in his bones, he could feel the static igniting his insides and making his hair stand on end, and he did not know which one would be more destructive. The one raging inside his head? Or the one destroying everything in its path outside of their pathetic excuse of a haven for the night? His mind was betraying him and he could feel his body start to give up on him, but the extension of him he found in Rick was unrelenting in his determination to keep him standing and alive. They were the walking dead, but they were not them.

The words kept ringing in his ears long after Rick had said them, almost to a point where Daryl had to wonder if the other man wasn't still whispering them in his ear as they sat next to one another against the barn door. But there were no murmurs of living, dead, or about to be, there were just the sounds of their synchronized breathing and the white noise of their love as Rick held his hand and turned towards him, eyes full of a quiet determination Daryl hadn't seen in them since Terminus.

“Hey, I'm with you, okay? Always.”


	18. Please don't do this

“Please don't do this.” Rick's eyes were begging, silent prayers of  _stay, stay, stay,_  woven together into a symphony the archer knew too well but often chose to ignore. Daryl wasn't built for this, he never was and never would be, and no amount of pleading on the other man's part would change any of it. Still, like every time, the hunter stopped and listened, and like every time, found himself trapped in those eyes, unable to get out, no matter how much he banged on the walls of his sky blue prison.

_Please let me out._

“Do what?” He heard himself say, echoing all the other times those exact same words had left his mouth, and he knew exactly what this conversation was going to be like, knew the words by heart like one of those poems he had been forced to memorize as a kid. But Daryl did not want to memorize that one, he wanted to forget it.

_I can't think with your words in my head._

“What you always do.” There it was. The guilt. That was Rick's favorite weapon to use against him whenever moments like these arose. And arise they did, more often than Daryl cared to count, and he knew it was his fault, he knew he was the one fucking things up every time, even when there was no reason to do so, but he couldn't stop. He just couldn't.

_I break everything I touch._

“Which is what exactly?” He briefly wondered why he had even bothered to ask, because Daryl already knew the answer to that question, but his mouth ran when his feet couldn't and he didn't think, he couldn't stop and  _think_  when Rick was looking at him like that. He wanted out, he wanted to leave and never return and forget all about the man who had picked him up from the ground, dusted him off and held him like he was made of glass.

_I don't understand myself sometimes._

“Run away from me. Again.” There was that guilt again. It stung, like the tears welling behind his eyes, like the slow imprint of his nails in the palm of his hands and like the way Rick was looking at him. Too blue eyes full of love, compassion and  _understanding_.

_Don't look at me like that, it's too cruel._

“I can't do this, Rick.” He was telling the truth. Or so he thought. Maybe he was just lying to himself. Maybe he was just a coward. What was there to be afraid of? Being loved? Being cared for? Daryl felt pathetic for recoiling from those things like they were bullets just waiting to make the final shot, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't been raised like this.

_I can't give you what you want._

“You can. You think you can't but you can. I know you can. Please, don't go.” The symphony started up again and Daryl felt the soothing notes of affection in Rick's pleas, and even if his body was screaming at him to leave, leave and never come back, he couldn't. Because when he looked past the pleas and into Rick's eyes, he saw the same helplessness he had been feeling all along.

_Don't leave me here._


	19. If you keep looking at me like that we won't make it to a bed

Rick had forgotten what sexual tension felt like. So much had happened over the past few months that the mere idea of anything remotely sexual had vanished from his mind, only to be replaced by an intense need for survival. His head had been too clouded with thoughts of  _lead, protect, kill,_ that his growing relationship with the archer had escaped him, burying itself in the deepest corner of his brain for later, for when it would be  _safe,_ and Rick had no doubt that it was the same for the other man.

But now, they had walls around them and a roof over their heads. They had food, water, safety, and most of all, they had  _time_. Enough time for them to get to know each other again, for quick glances to become longing stares, for feather-light touches to become fiery embraces, and for missed opportunities to become intimate moments once again.

Rick was infinitely thankful for his brain's ability to suppress his sexual urges in times of crisis, because now that he  _could_  think about those things, he found he could  _not_  think about anything else. Every time he so much as caught a glimpse of brown locks and silver-blue eyes, or a whiff of leather and cold cigarettes, Rick's whole body would shudder in  _want._ His mind would quit on him and a voice inside of his head would whisper filthy promises, sending them straight to his cock, and his thoughts would be turned to memories of entwined bodies in ratty cots and against concrete walls for the remainder of the day, rendering him useless enough to be labelled as walker food.

And now that he had the  _time_  to do something about it, he found himself staring at Daryl every chance he got, the other man returning his gaze in kind, the fire burning inside of his eyes making Rick's skin heat up and his cock stir. Now that  _they_  had time to do something about it, they made sure to drag it out, the constable leading his archer up the stairs to the bedroom, only stopping to pin the other man against the wall and stare at him some more, fingers tangling in long hair and eyes losing themselves in the bare soul reflected in Daryl's metallic blues.

“If ya keep lookin' at me like that we ain't gonna make it to the bed, Rick.” The archer's voice was rough with desire, raw need emanating from every part of him as he closed the distance between them to crash their lips together, pulling him in, burning bodies rocking together with the force of the kiss.

“Don't think I can wait that long, Daryl.” Rick's words were whisper soft against the other man's lips, a predatory growl escaping his throat to signal the end of their little game, punctuated by the ruffling sound of clothes torn off of willing bodies, and the delicate moans fleeing from their mouths as heated flesh finally met blazing skin.

Rick might have forgotten what sexual tension felt like, but he would never forget what  _Daryl_  felt like.


	20. Wait a minute. Are you jealous?

They had been in Alexandria all of four days, and Daryl already felt like imploding – and not just from claustrophobia. He felt trapped alright, like a lion pacing in his cage, stalking whatever he saw through the iron bars separating him from what he truly yearned for – freedom. But the feeling of entrapment was nothing compared to the sheer _anger_ he felt whenever he caught a glimpse of silky blond hair and soft green eyes less than fifty feet away from the constable.  _His_  constable.

Now Daryl wasn't much, but he wasn't irrational. He knew Rick would never let himself fall in that woman's arms, partly because of her marital status, but also because he respected the hunter too much to hurt him in this way. Yet there was a part of his brain that kept going off like a siren whenever he so much as saw her smile at the former deputy, ringing in his ears in heavy warnings of  _danger_. He had never quite felt this way, never really had to, because he never truly had anything that was  _his_  in ways the constable was, so this whole jealousy thing was a little unsettling for him.

Still, as new as it was to feel this way, it wasn't a welcome feeling. He felt like he had an itch under his skin that just couldn't be scratched, his senses in overload much like they tended to be when he was hunting, and really, Daryl would have found the whole thing amusing if only it wasn't happening to  _him_. The others were becoming wary of him – and rightfully so, he was a ticking time bomb, and he all but growled in territoriality whenever she got too _close_.

Truth is, Daryl was drowning in jealousy and Rick was as dense as ever.

And here he was, lying in bed with  _his_  constable, half listening to him talk his ear off about how they needed to protect this place better and how he could maybe persuade Jessie to grant him access to their weapons at all times and... Wait, what?

“Again with  _her?!_ ” Daryl hadn't meant to snap like that, but he was growing weary of the fact that all Rick seemed to talk about these days was  _her, her, her,_ and Daryl wanted to punch  _him_ in the face.

“What do you mean?” And again he went with the sticky sweet voice and the doe eyes, confusion written all over his face in permanent marker, making Daryl growl in frustration and sink deeper into the too soft bed.

“All ya ever talk 'bout is  _her_  and I'm fuckin' sick of it, man. So if ya don't got nothin' else ta talk 'bout, just keep yer mouth shut or go find someone else ta pester.” The archer grunted in annoyance, shifting to face the wall, giving the constable a good view of his back for his trouble.

“Wait a minute. Are you _jealous?_ ” Daryl all but groaned at that, turning to throw his pillow in Rick's face, only for the constable to catch it and send it flying to the other side of the bed.

The constable was all smiles as he pinned the hunter to the bed and cooed nonsense in his ear, whispering things like how he loved the possessive angry redneck thing and just what he was going to do to prove to him that no one would ever take Daryl's place, and least of all Jessie.

And suddenly, that name didn't sound so bad anymore.


	21. The paint's supposed to go where?

“The paint's supposed ta go  _where?_ ” Squinting at the little jar Rick was holding up, Daryl was trying to make sense of what the other man was saying. Now the archer was no artist, but he was pretty sure _actual_  paint came in much larger containers and was to be applied to walls, canvases, and furniture – not  _skin._

The hunter was propped up on his elbows, looking at the container the other man was showing him from his position between his legs, the leader sitting on his haunches with Daryl's bare thighs wrapped around him. There was one of those infamous, knowing smirks on Rick's face as he toyed with the lid with one hand, the other resting comfortably over the younger man's toned thigh.  
  
“On your body. It's edible, and it's supposed to be fun. That's what Eric said anyway.” Rick shrugged, turning the little pot over in his fingers to read the label better, narrowing his eyes at all the artificial flavors and strange ingredients crammed up on the wrapper.  
  
“Then tell Eric he can take back his _fun, edible_  paint and shove it where the sun don't shine. M'sure Aaron wouldn't mind doin' that for him.” Daryl rolled his eyes at how engrossed by the strange little jar the other man seemed to be, turning it every which way to read everything there was to read on there.  
  
“Hey, hold up a sec. You don't even wanna try? It's cherry flavored.” Rick gave his lover a hopeful look, the innocence of it contrasting with the picture of them tangled in the sheets, naked, and sporting a matching pair of  _very_ neglected hard-ons.  
  
“I don't know, man. S'weird. Don't need no cherry flavored body paint ta have great sex. Just need ya.” Daryl looked up at his lover through his lashes, teeth dragging over his lips in a display of what was either nerves, or seduction.

Rick decided on the latter.  
  
“You're right. Forget 'bout the paint, I'm gonna eat _you._ ” An honest to god giggle escaped Daryl as the constable threw the jar behind him and leaned down to nip at the archer's neck, growling playfully.

Making his way down to a perky nipple and taking it into his mouth, Rick made sure to work it nice and slow with his tongue before biting down on it, making the redneck above him hiss and fist a hand in his hair. Smiling against the hard nub, the former deputy abused it some more before moving on to the other one, giving it the same kind of treatment and making Daryl hiss all over again, his hold on the leader's curls almost painful, yet incredibly exhilarating.

The constable quickly slid down the other's body to work on a different part of his anatomy, wringing sweet, delighted moans out of the hunter as he lapped at his cock, stretching him open at the same time. The leftover lube from their earlier round of foreplay – the one that had been interrupted by the body paint argument – made it oh so easy for Rick to slide in a minute later, giving way to a steamy embrace made of tangled limbs, open-mouthed kisses, and deep thrusts.

A steady stream of moans rapidly filled the room, the jar of cherry flavored body paint laying forgotten on the floor acting as a testimony to the raw passion the leader and his archer shared.


	22. It's not what it looks like...

“Someone care to explain to me what's goin' on here?” Maggie inquired, her voice sweet and dripping like honey, a perfect compliment to her shark-like grin. She was standing in the doorway to the newly appointed constable's room, her arms crossed over her chest as she took in the view.

Daryl was sprawled on the bed – fully clothed except for his leather jacket – with both arms raised above his head, strong muscles straining against the metallic restraints tying him to the bed frame. Rick was in an equally compromising position, sitting on his haunches between the redneck's legs with one hand down the archer's shirt, the other holding his wrists firmly in place, presumably preventing the edge of the handcuffs from biting into the thin skin there.

Both men had jumped at the sound of her voice, most likely unaware of the fact that they had left the door unlocked, judging by the look on Rick's face when he turned to look at Maggie. Daryl and him were both wearing the same expression, something full of surprise, with a touch of guilt and thinly veiled anger. The young woman wasn't sure if they were mad at her for walking in, or at themselves for forgetting something as crucial as locking the door before play time, but she was fairly certain it might have been a mixture of both.

“It's not what it looks like, Maggie, I swear... We were just testin' the cuffs and...” The constable trailed off, looking a little lost as to what he was supposed to say to her, a red tint coloring the top of his cheekbones, mirroring the full on blush Daryl was sporting.

“Oh so you boys were having fun tryin' out the cuffs, hu?” She tried hard not to snort at that, a parade of possibilities swirling around in her head as she tried to come up with the most fitting scenario for their situation, reminding her of the bad romantic comedies her friends and her used to watch.

“No, goddammit! I wanted to see if they were workin', and then... Then they got stuck and I... dropped the key tryna unlock 'em.” Rick let go of the hunter's wrists to pinch the bridge of his nose, very aware of what Maggie must have been thinking, and getting a little desperate because even if the things he was telling her were half truths, he felt like he was running fresh out of excuses to label this as.

“You're telling me you dropped the key in Daryl's  _shirt?_ ” Maggie's amusement almost got the best of her as the giggle she was trying so hard to keep confined in her throat tried to escape, her already positively terrifying smile getting larger as seconds passed.

“Yes, fuck. I know how it sounds, but it's not... We're not...” The constable trailed off again, biting his lip in embarrassment. He had tried, he really had, but no matter how hard he had burrowed his mind for a viable excuse, he just hadn't been able to come up with one this time.

“Oh quit it, she fuckin' knows, she wouldn't be smilin' like that if she didn't.”


	23. You're the only one I trust to do this

“Don't fuckin' touch me!” Daryl was yelling and thrashing, probably worsening his injuries with how hard he was pushing against both Pete and Aaron, but he didn't care. The latter was trying to get him to stay down on the table so the other could take a look at him, but even if he was a mess of open wounds, the archer would never let that guy touch him.

“Daryl, you need to let Pete take a look at you, you're badly hurt and-” Aaron's words were cut short by Daryl's incessant kicking, his previously gentle hold on the hunter's arm and chest strengthening to keep him down, but as soon as Pete's hands made contact with his body, the redneck lost it.

“Get yer fuckin' hands off me!” Daryl used all of his remaining strength to throw Aaron off of him, jerking away from Pete and jumping off the table, backing up nervously like some kind of caged animal, the anger burning almost as fiercely as the fear in his eyes – almost entirely blackened by agitation.

“You need stitches, so let me do my job, alright?” Pete was getting impatient, it was clear in the tone of his voice and the frigid smile plastered on his face, and if it wasn't for Rick's gentle hand snaking around his mid-section to support him, Daryl would have wiped that smile clean off with his fists.

“Back off, Pete. I'll take care of him.” Rick's acidic tone left no room for argument, and one look in Aaron's direction stopped the recruiter from following them out of the house and to their own – probably the same look he'd given him the day they had met, full of that untameable fire that was so distinctly  _Rick._

They made their way to Rick's room with some difficulty, especially in the stairs leading to the second floor where the constable had to practically carry the archer, but Daryl eventually managed to sit down on the bed while the other man looked for the first aid kit in the bathroom. The redneck was trying to shrug out of his clothes when Rick came back with the supplies he needed, the former deputy instantly dropping them somewhere on the sheets to help the struggling hunter.

Rick knelt in front of the archer as soon as he was down to his underwear in order to tend to a deep wound on his calf, slowly working his way upward to disinfect the one on his thigh and the plethora of scrapes and lacerations over his stomach, arm and shoulder. The constable climbed on the bed as soon as he was done with Daryl's front, settling behind him to clean and stitch a nasty gash right under his tattoo, working methodically, slow enough to match the flow of the redneck's strained breathing, but fast enough to minimize the pain.

“Yer the only one I trust ta do this. Hell, yer the only one I trust at all.” Daryl dropped his head after breaking the comfortable silence they had settled in, his hands rhythmically balling into fists on his thighs each time the needle pierced him to stitch his battered skin closed.

The steady pricking of his flesh stopped after a while, Rick dropping his instruments in the lid of the box before picking up gauze to cover the wound as best he could. Strong arms wrapped themselves around Daryl's middle after that, the constable holding him close as he propped his head on the hunter's good shoulder, both men closing their eyes, breathing in each other's comforting presence.

“I know. I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @[serenalunera](http://serenalunera.tumblr.com)


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